I was telling a man and a woman (both probably in their 20s) about a
dream I had had.
The woman reminded me of someone I knew named Marcia Gillman. As I told the dream,
I almost seemed to be listening to a recording of the dream, writing down the
dream, and escorting the man and the woman through the scenes of the dream at
the same time.

In the dream I had been having a party at an apartment in
which I was living on the second story of a building. Some fellow asked me if there was anything
alcoholic to drink. Although I did have some alcohol in what I called a "C Cabinet," I had been in no hurry to bring it out. The fellow asked me about opening up the C Cabinet,
but I was in no hurry and
I continued on with the dream.

Some excellent rock and roll music was playing in the
background as I showed the two people around and I asked them if they had heard that music before. I thought perhaps I had invented
the music in the dream, but they said that the music had been a popular song and
that they had heard it before. They mentioned the artist's name which sounded something like
"T. J. Booker." I was a bit disappointed that I
hadn't been the person who had composed the impressive music in my dream.

I finally lay down on the floor and the fellow who wanted some alcohol lay down next to me. He asked me again if I would go open the C Cabinet. I told him I would.

I was holding a sewing needle in my right hand. Suddenly the fellow lying next to me rolled over onto my hand and caused the needle to go deep into my palm. He continued pressing harder and harder and I screamed for him to get up,
but he couldn't hear me because the music was so loud. Finally he did hear me and got off my hand. I showed him my hand. The needle was in so far I couldn't pull it out. Finally I grabbed it with my teeth and was able to pull it out. It didn't feel good but it
wasn't really that painful. I was able to endure it.

I began thinking I needed to get back to relating the dream. It suddenly occurred to me that so many things were happening that I might actually be dreaming. It seemed that perhaps instead of writing a dream I had already recorded, I was actually at this moment having a dream. But I was uncertain. I did however realize that
-- whatever was occurring -- I needed to record the present events.

As I thought about it, I saw in front of me what appeared to be a computer screen which reminded me of my computer screen where I write my recorded dreams. I saw a sentence on the screen which described a man entering wearing a white suit and a confident smile. I somewhat remembered a man having entered at one point during the dream. He seemed like a mysterious person and I was
unsure who he was.